


The Morning/Moment After

by DreamerInSilico



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Episode Fix-It: s02e13 Mizumono, Episode: s02e13 Mizumono, Fluff, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Heavy Angst, Idiots in Love, M/M, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Will Graham Loves Hannibal Lecter, minific compilation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-09 09:07:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18635095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamerInSilico/pseuds/DreamerInSilico
Summary: For a prompt on tumblr - four takes on the aftermath of Will and Hannibal's first time.





	The Morning/Moment After

_**Caring** _ **  
**

Wakefulness returns to Hannibal far more slowly than usual, awareness of his present situation coming in a sweet, rich stream that he savors like the finest of dessert wines.  First, the scent - he is absolutely enveloped in salty tang of sex and sweat and  _Will, Will, Will._   Then there is touch; his skin is unpleasantly tacky and he is too warm, but he is also entangled possessively, even protectively in fine-boned limbs and therefore has no desire to move, yet, except to turn his head enough to drink in the sight of Will’s face.  

Will is already awake, and his lips curl up into a slight smile when Hannibal meets his eyes.  

“You snore, you know,” Will informs him, though the words are affectionate, and Hannibal huffs a breath out through his nose.  No, he didn’t know, but it isn’t terribly surprising; he’s aware that his time in prison aged him.

“Good morning, Will.”

Will smiles more widely, and it is entirely worth the mutual morning breath when, a moment later, he leans in the scant few inches to kiss him.

* * *

_**Tactile** _

It had always been Hannibal who had initiated touch between them, once upon a time, but now it’s like a dam has burst, and Will can’t seem to stop.  

They lie together on damp sheets, and they could both really use a shower, but even the opportunity for contact that that would allow isn’t enough for the brief separation they would need to get there, yet.  Will’s hand wanders over Hannibal’s lean body ( _slightly softer than it used to be after three years in the BSHCI; what would it have felt like if they had done this before?)_ , tracing the long lines of his limbs and drinking in the slight strangeness of crinkly, grey chest hair  _(Will is surprised by how much he likes it)_ , then pressing into the bruise of a love bite on Hannibal’s shoulder and watching Hannibal’s eyes go heavy-lidded like a pleased cat.  

“So I guess I’m not as straight as I thought,” Will murmurs, warm and wry, after a while.  “Seems like something I should have figured out before I hit forty.”  

Hannibal lets out a quiet chuckle, dragging a thumb along Will’s cheek.  “Sexuality is often an slow-evolving thing, particularly when it deviates from the societal default.”  

“Hnn.”  Will huffs and leans into the touch of Hannibal’s hand, loving the reverent way he cups his face  _(it brings up memories, but somehow they don’t hurt anymore_ ).  “Compulsory heterosexuality is a hell of a drug?”  

“Yes, that it is.”

* * *

_**Morals** _

Kissing Hannibal had been a mistake.

It had been perfect, and perfectly  _awful_ , because it tasted like a goodbye.  

It had been a mistake, because suddenly the idea of that goodbye had been unbearable, and Will had only wanted to get closer.  He’d felt a strong echo of that same desperation and conflict from Hannibal, and then it had been impossible not to get closer, get  _inside_ , as if he wasn’t planning on ripping away from him tomorrow.  

Now, Hannibal is watching him quietly, eyes glittering -  _are those tears?_ \- in the firelight, and that gaze has never been more perilous to Will, so he buries his face in Hannibal’s shoulder to breathe in that comforting nearness for just a little longer.  

“Will you stay?” Hannibal murmurs into his hair a few minutes later, and oh,  _Will wants to, more than anything -_

“I - I can’t,” he makes himself reply instead.  “The dogs.”  

“Of course.”

Later, he will try and fail to forget the disappointment and finality in that quiet acquiescence.

* * *

_**Impulse** _

Kissing Hannibal had been a mistake.

It had been perfect, and perfectly  _awful,_  because it tasted like a goodbye.  

It had been a mistake, because suddenly the idea of that goodbye had been unbearable, and Will had only wanted to get closer.  He’d felt a strong echo of that same desperation and conflict from Hannibal, and then it had been impossible not to get closer, get  _inside_ , as if he wasn’t planning on ripping away from him tomorrow.  

Now, Hannibal is watching him quietly, eyes glittering -  _are those tears?_ \- in the firelight, and that gaze has never been more perilous to Will.  

He doesn’t know what he’s going to say until the words are already tumbling from his lips, forced out of him by a horrible, desperate pressure that wells up all of a sudden.

“I didn’t actually kill Freddie Lounds.”  

Something seems to gentle in Hannibal’s eyes, which is exactly the opposite of what Will would have expected, had he thought about that confession at all before making it.  

“I know.”

Will blinks, but isn’t as surprised by this as at one point he might have been.  “I’m not really who you want me to be,” he whispers, because that’s the important thing, isn’t it?  It’s why he couldn’t accept the suggestion Hannibal made at dinner, to leave that night.  

“Will,” Hannibal replies, voice low and hoarse and terribly intent.  “You are exactly who I want.”  

And now it’s Will’s eyes that are burning with tears, and he leans in close, closer, wrapping around Hannibal because yes, Hannibal is somehow  _exactly who he wants_ , despite it all.  

Later, as they are packing, Hannibal makes his own confession, and Will has to resign himself to the simultaneous desire to kiss Hannibal senseless and  _fucking strangle him_  being a recurring theme of their relationship.

“In the spirit of resurrections, this seems an appropriate time to tell you that I didn’t actually kill Abigail.”

**Author's Note:**

> I take prompts for fic and meta on Tumblr as [questionablygourmet!](https://questionablygourmet.tumblr.com/)


End file.
